42. i think too much.

but i'm not really drunk right now.

at least, that's what i keep telling myself.

in all honesty, sometimes i prefer being drunk.  not in an AAA kind of way, where i douse my daddy issues with copious amounts of liquid courage, make admissions to total strangers about things i could never tell my friends.

just in the sense that Drunk Vickie gets [at least some] shit done.

she picks the right background music -- for secretly emotional lesbians -- and makes moves on people her sober foil would normally be too scared to talk to.

that being said, booze plus attachment don't necessarily always meet good ends.

it's all well and good when i recognize the fact that i'd never have a future with the target of conversation, but when i'm into someone and not around them, i find myself making the mistake of succumbing to the lure of my phone's keypad and undoubtedly making a clingy fool of myself.

and when i am around them, and suspect at least a small amount of mutual attraction, the clinginess is all the more obvious.

is this a bad thing?  in a lot of ways i wish i could be as forthcoming as Drunk Vickie.  i wish i could say the things on my mind rather than think into the silence all of the words that never find a way out.

she wanted to talk about buildings.  about how bare hands built them so big, made something so withstanding and beautiful.

all Sober Vickie managed to reply was, "Yeah, buildings are great."

and the part of me that only comes out when coaxed by sufficiently lubed chords revolted, was revolted, by the silence: the strain that choked the passage out, suffocated any chance of connection.

when i said, "Yeah, buildings are great," i hoped she heard something else.

that all i think about are buildings.  how big they are, how little their parts are.  how, of all the  pieces of all the universe, these somehow found their way to this one place.  to me.  for me to see.  and how, in a second, bad luck, it can all be destroyed.  pull out a piece, strike it, touch it wrong, and the whole thing comes crashing down.  and we can do that.  he builds it, he takes it apart.

but i'm over that now, just like i get over so many lost sober conversations.

it probably isn't healthy to assume that my only meaningful conversations come about when i'm loud and obnoxious and careless, but try as i might to navigate those waters between what's too much and what isn't enough -- being close and not too close or not close enough -- i mess up.  and any disconnect i blame on my over-conscious sobriety.

i wish i could shut my brain off, live in the moment, be myself.  but when i really like someone, or convince myself that that affection is a distinct possibility, i become everything but myself; or, in a way, too much of myself.  overwhelming.

how can i trust myself in these situations when so many past chances went astray and negated all of those "Love yourself!" infomercials?

being the narcissist that i am, i think about myself constantly.  so much so i'm sure this is one of the many reasons my last relationship, last potential relationships, didn't work.  they aren't always positive thoughts, but they're enough to keep me so occupied i'm sure i wasn't built for romance.

any contact, any inkling of a connection, makes me weary; i want it so badly sometimes i get wrapped up in possibilities rather than actual goings-on.

granted, all of these things pave the way for hilarious anecdotes i share with you for laughs, and i love making you laugh, but, just for once, i wouldn't mind having a boring, normal, for realsies relationship.